


An Attractive Idiot

by Emiline



Category: Monk (TV)
Genre: M/M, Yuletide, Yuletide 2009
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-20
Updated: 2009-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-04 19:08:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emiline/pseuds/Emiline
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Randy postulates wild, unsubstantiated theories, as he so often does, and Stottlemeyer accidently confronts his attraction to Randy. While this fic is focused on Stottlemeyer and Disher, Monk and Natalie also make an appearance. Written for Yuletide 2009.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Attractive Idiot

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ceares](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ceares/gifts).



> Disclaimer: Monk belongs to Andy Breckman and NBC.

There were two things Captain Leland Stottlemeyer knew with absolute certainty about Lieutenant Randy Disher: One, that the man was a complete idiot, and two, that he was an extremely attractive idiot. Usually Stottlemeyer tried to ignore the latter, which was somewhat difficult, and focus on the former, which was not difficult at all. To be fair, Randy did have moments of intelligence. He had successfully become a lieutenant in the police force, after all. His normal mode of idiocy was so bizarre and unfathomable that those instances stood out far clearer in Stottlemeyer's mind than those of Randy's competency as a police officer.

Stottlemeyer watched Monk examine the crime scene. This particular victim, a middle-aged man, one Percival Addams, had been stabbed in the back multiple times and had died of the resulting blood loss. For reasons known only to Randy Disher, or rather for reasons only understood by the lieutenant, Randy had decided that whoever had killed this man should be called the Backwards Killer. Stottlemeyer had pointed out that getting literally stabbed in the back, while it could possibly be ironic, did not have anything to do with being backwards. Randy had persisted, and Stottlemeyer had eventually stopped arguing with the hopes that Randy would then stop talking about it.

"Captain?" Randy's voice broke into his thoughts, pulling him out of his musings.

"Yes Randy?" Stottlemeyer replied, somewhat warily.

"Are Monk and Natalie flirting?"

Stottlemeyer blinked. His hearing must be going, he thought. "I'm sorry, could you say that again? Because I'm sure that whatever you said it wasn't what I thought you said."

"Do you think Monk and Natalie flirting?" Randy repeated. "I mean, I know that's kind of weird and all since you've told me how Trudy was the only one for Monk, and I can't really imagine why Natalie would be interested in Monk at all, or actually why any woman would, but I think Monk and Natalie flirting. Which is just weird. And kinda freaky."

Stottlemeyer stared at Randy in disbelief, paralyzed as thousands of possible responses crowded his brain, things such as _Where the hell does he get these ideas?_, and _We're at a crime scene_, and _Monk doesn't flirt,_ and _Why would anyone flirt at a crime scene?_ and _How could anyone possibly think Monk was flirting?_ and, for a the briefest of moments _Is it possible that Monk and Natalie could be flirting?_ To which his brain replied _No, are you crazy?_, and promptly shut down the entire train of thought, so when he opened his mouth to reply all that came out was: "Randy?"

"Yes Captain?"

The responses to Randy's initial comment still colliding and crowding in his brain, Stottlemeyer opened his mouth to voice one of them, thought the better of it, shut his mouth, heaved a great sigh and started over.

"Randy, where the hell do you think we are?"

"Sir?" Randy replied, surprised.

"Are you a matchmaker Randy? Or a marriage counselor?"

"No sir, although I did introduce my friend to this one girl and now they're—"

"That was a rhetorical question," Stottlemeyer interrupted, annoyed. He shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Where are we, Lieutenant?"

"Uh, at a crime scene?"

"Yes, we're at a crime scene. We're here," he gestured with his arm towards the cordoned off area "investigating a crime scene."

"Well technically, we're not investigating right now, Monk is."

"It doesn't matter!" Stottlemeyer exploded. A few officers turned to look in their direction, surprised by the outburst. Monk, used to such incidents, didn't even turn his head.

Stottlemeyer grabbed Randy by the arm and pulled him farther away from the scene.   
"The point is," he growled, bringing his face within inches of his unfortunate subordinate, "that we are here to do work. A horrible crime has taken place, and we are here to solve it and bring the killer to justice.

"You mean the Backwards Kill— "

"Don't even start," Stottlemeyer cut him off. "What we are not here to do to is make wild theories about the social lives of other people, especially Monk. Especially Monk. Do I make myself clear, Lieutenant?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Now get back over there and start investigating."

Stottlemeyer dropped his hand from Randy's forearm and strode back to the crime scene.

"I don't think it's a wild theory," Randy called after him.

Stottlemeyer turned slowly.

"I'm just saying."

"Randy? Drop it. Now."

"Yes sir."

It was only much later, after the fact, that Stottlemeyer realized he had noticed how crystal blue Randy's eyes were. He wondered briefly, if he subconsciously orchestrated moments like those as an excuse to invade Randy's personal space.

xxxxxx

A few days later, Stottlemeyer was leaning back against his desk, silently cursing Randy. Damn the man for putting ideas in his head. Damn him. Monk and Natalie did not flirt with each other, Stottlemeyer knew that. He also knew that the thought had never even crossed their minds. But Randy's offhand complete misinterpretation did have a speck of truth in it somewhere. There was some strange connection between Monk and Natalie, some undercurrent that ran in their relationship and very rarely came to the surface. It was not necessarily romantic love, but it was a deeper connection than many relationships had. Now, thanks to Randy, he could not stop thinking about it, could not stop trying to define precisely that connection.

Randy was gathering up a few folders of information on another case they were working on, and Stottlemeyer watched him closely. He really was an attractive man.

"Captain, you're looking at me kind of strangely," Randy pointed out.

"No I'm not," Stottlemeyer replied quickly.

"Yes you are."

"No, I'm not." Stottlemeyer turned away, unwilling to continue the yes you did, no I didn't game.

"Yeah actually, you are." It was the way Randy said it, quietly and little sadly and with such absolute finality, that made Stottlemeyer turn back. And as he looked at Randy, who had no trace of joking now, only was wearing a small, regretful smile, it occurred to him that Randy knew. Randy knew, surely and unequivocally. They stood looking at each other, across Stottlemeyer's office. Stottlemeyer felt rooted in place. After a minute or two, or three, he couldn't tell, Randy seemed to reach a decision.

"I suppose I should go get those files over to the courthouse," he said, in what was clearly supposed to be a cheerful voice, though he wasn't doing too well at accomplishing that. He reached for the doorknob.

"Wait," Stottlemeyer called, and was rather surprised to discover it had come out more like a croak. Randy slowly lowered his hand and stared intently at the older man. Stottlemeyer searched for other words to fill the widening gulf of silence, and found, to his frustration that his powers of speech had deserted him. It was then he noticed that a growing tension was filling the space where speech should have gone. Randy took a half-step towards him and suddenly the tension was so thick Stottlemeyer thought it was remarkable there was any oxygen left for them to breather.

He felt hypnotized, in a trance, and Randy was inching closer and closer. Leland watched as though in slow motion as Randy closed the gap between the two of them, inch by inch. Intent as he was on Randy's progress, he did not notice that he had reached out and placed his hands on the younger man's waist until he felt the fabric of the shirt under his fingertips. Then his hands were underneath the lieutenant's shirt—(when had it come un-tucked?)—and he felt the smooth, firm skin underneath. Randy cupped Stottlemeyer's face and their lips met, softly at first and then more insistently as Stottlemeyer's hands ran up Randy's sides. Randy's hands slid down to Stottlemeyer's shoulders, and somewhere in the back of Stottlemeyer's mind alarm bells were going off but they were so far away. Then they became louder, more insistent, and reluctantly, he pulled away.

"We probably shouldn't be doing this," he muttered, as he clumsily straightened his tie. "We really probably shouldn't be doing this," he repeated.

"Why not?" Randy asked, sounding bemused.

"I'm sure there are hundreds of reasons. I know there are hundreds of reasons—" He swallowed as Randy advanced towards him again.

"Things like the fraternization policy for instance. I'm sure that would have major problems with—"

The rest of the thought dropped off as Randy soundly kissed him.

There was a knock at the door.

"Crap," Stottlemeyer murmured against Randy's lips. "Maybe we can ignore it."

The knocking came again.

"Mr. Monk, the pencils are fine, leave them alone!" Natalie's voice, muffled by the door entered his brain.

"But they're uneven," Monk whined.

"What are we going to do?" Randy whispered.

"Captain?" Natalie called again.

Stottlemeyer heard the door handle turning and jumped away from Randy guiltily.

Natalie's head appeared in the door. "There you are, I thought I heard voices in here. Mr. Monk and I are—Oh!" Stottlemeyer could practically see the gears in her brain processing the situation, taking in their still too close proximity and slightly rumpled shirts. "I'm so sorry, I—"

"See Natalie, aren't these much better?" Monk asked, sounding pleased with himself.

Natalie whirled around. "No! I mean yes, uh, Mr. Monk, you stay there for a minute."

But it was too late. Stottlemeyer saw Monk enter his field of vision, saw the penny drop.  
Monk stood there in shocked silence for a moment. Natalie looked as though she was waiting for the blow to fall.

"Natalie?"

"Mr. Monk, lets go," she suggested hurridly.

"Natalie? Natalie? Natalie? Natalie?" he spoke, each "Natalie?" following the next at a rapidly increasing pace.

This was going to get out of control really fast, and the entire world was going to know what had been transpiring in the past few minutes if someone didn't do something soon. Stottlemeyer quickly ran through his options and decided that, shocked as Monk seemed to be, the best option would be to lie and hope that Monk would accept it as a way to get out of the ever increasingly uncomfortable situation and pretend it had never happened.

"Monk, it's, it's, not what it looks like," Stottlemeyer offered, but he didn't sound very convincing, even to himself.

Monk smiled slowly, the smile that he usually saved for when he caught criminals in their web of lies and had figured out exactly what happened.

"That's a good one," Monk chortled, the smirk spreading across his features. "Leland, this is me, Adrian Monk." He paused, briefly, for effect. "This is _exactly_ what it looks like."

"Mr. Monk, we should go now," Natalie tried, desperation creeping into her voice.

Unfortunately for Stottlemeyer, Monk was not to be deterred.

"I don't believe this. I really don't believe this. The two of you were, you know—"

With a speed Stottlemeyer had not thought was possible for a person to achieve, Natalie had clapped a hand over Monk's mouth, yanked him through the doorway with her and shut the door behind her. He struggled and made muffled noises of distress. She proceeded to shove him against the wall to prevent him from squirming away.

"Mr. Monk, do you want the entire squad room to hear?" she hissed. "It's lucky it's so close to lunchtime, there wasn't anyone else out there right now. I'm sorry, Captain."

"Uh, no harm done, I think," he replied, dazedly.

"Mr. Monk, apologize to Randy and the Captain."

Natalie uncovered his mouth.

"Natalie, you—you touched my mouth! With your germy hands!"

"My hands are not germy, Mr. Monk, I just washed them."

"But you have cooties. _Girl cooties_. Wipe, Natalie, wipe! I need a wipe!"

"No."

"No? What do you mean, no? Natalie, I need a wipe!"

"Mr. Monk, I'm not giving you a wipe until you apologize to the captain and Randy."

"For what? Ow!" he cried as she smacked his arm. "Okay, okay, I'm sorry I caught the two of you almost kissing."

Natalie smacked him again.

"What was that for?"

"That was not what I meant!"

"Wasn't that what you wanted me to apologize for?"

"Well yes, but not like that!"

"Well how did you want me to say it, then, hmm?"

"Oh, never mind! You know what Mr. Monk? We're going to leave now. I'm sure you have some cleaning or something urgent to do at home. Goodbye Captain, goodbye Randy."

She grabbed Monk's arm rather forcefully, opened the door and began steering him towards the exit.

"Actually, I—"

"We're going home now, Mr. Monk," Natalie cut him off. "I am taking you back to your apartment and then I am going to the grocery store and picking up my dry-cleaning and then I will go home and pay my bills."

They continued to argue all the way out of earshot of the two officers. After hearing the door slam shut behind them, Stottlemeyer let out a breath he had not realized he had been holding.

"Well," he said.

"I should take these folders to the courthouse," Randy muttered.

"Yes, I think that would be best," Stottlemeyer agreed. "Though I think you should tuck your shirt back in."

"What? Oh, yeah, that would probably be a good idea."

"Probably."

~Finis~


End file.
